Roleplaying Game

Feb. 17th, 2014

Feb. 17th, 2014

The portal had substance. It slid over Rhiannon’s skin like a cold gelatin. She had never gone through a tear in space-time and did not know what to expect. Would she be disassembled and put back together on the other side? Or was it more like Elfleda had folded the fabric of the universe in half, allowing her to take a short-cut through the material?

She emerged on the front lawn of a residence of no particular consequence. There were clues as to its location. The sky held roughly the same number of clouds, and the air felt no different in terms of humidity or temperature. All around her, succulent plants sprouted sharply from rock and barren landscaping. It was still night.

Rhiannon closed her eyes and huffed a small laugh. Nevada. Duncan was in Nevada. He had hidden in plain sight. She ducked into the driveway between a pair of trash cans, where she removed a dark knit cap from her pack and put it on, tucking her ponytail inside it. She put on gloves and lifted her hood. Although it wasn’t crucial to conceal her identity, she wanted to limit the chances of a neighbor glancing out a window and placing a pale brunette at the scene of the crime.

She skimmed the wall with her back, creeping into the midway place between bedrooms. Duncan’s and hers. Her shoulder nudged a candle sconce and Rhiannon reached up to catch it.

I can’t do this now. I can’t.

What was she to do? Carve symbols into a man and let an innocent girl wake up to his cries for help? Slit his throat and leave him bleeding between his sheets so that Iliana could stumble down the hallway in the morning and find him dead? It wasn’t right, and yet there was little left to Rhiannon to do. Duncan had to go; even if she delivered proof of his wrongdoing to the Council on a silver platter and let them sort through the mess, it didn’t change a simple fact: Rhiannon had been dropped off at his doorstep and now she had to uphold her end of the bargain.

More than that, Rhiannon knew, she no longer wanted the Council to take care of it. She wanted to hurt him. Badly. She needed to make him pay.

Hey. You’re probably asking yourself why there’s a letter in your box from me. Good question. If I had bigger balls, I’d just knock. There’s a good chance opening this thing up made your stomach twist into knots and even though I hope that’s not the case there’s nothing I can do if it is.

I know things ended up bad between us. I’ve replayed that day in my head a hundred times, trying to think of how it could’ve gone differently. What I could’ve said, or what you could’ve said, so it didn’t leave both of us feeling like shit. I don’t know how you are now. Part of me hopes you’re really good and another part of me, a part that I realize is a complete dick, wishes that sometimes, every once in a while, you have a hard time dealing with it, too, because I do and misery loves company.

Like I said, complete dick.

I just wanted you to know I miss talking to you. I’m doing good. No sign of you-know-who and things are pretty chill. I also wanted to say that if you ever need anything I’m here. There’s probably ten other people you’d call before me, but I need you to know that you could call me if you had to. I wouldn’t hang up the phone.

Until then, know that I’m alright. I should mention I’ve been practicing. Last week I made a sandwich without using my hands.

Hey, it’s progress, right?

-Brian

P.S. If anybody tries to get you to listen to that new single called "Sara" by Starship, punch them in the kidney.